


the altar is my hips

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Lifeguards, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, but it is actually really sweet so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “I can’t believe it,” she wheezes after he (very nicely) turns down Mrs Asherton. “Everyone wants a piece of Bellamy Blake, huh.”He looks at her over the top of his aviators and smirks. “What, you jealous Princess?”Clarke bites down on her bottom lip, giving him a very thorough look over that leaves him flushed, though just a bit. It also leaves him with some very inconvenient thoughts of him biting down on that very same bottom lip, drawing out a sweet moan as he tugs her onto his lap and kisses her, deep and dirty.“Nah,” she says, flippantly, drawing him out of his daydream, “There’s nothing for me to be jealous of at all."-or, Bellamy is a lifeguard and he loses his mind over Clarke and her swimsuits.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 52
Kudos: 714
Collections: Bellarke smut





	the altar is my hips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [safeandsound13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/gifts).



> happy birthday you freak. this fic is brought to you by miss eliza jane's glorious tiddies. <3

For as long as he could remember Bellamy’s always had a summer job.

When he was a kid he spent his time mowing his neighbours’ lawns and bagging groceries at the corner supermarket. In high school he upgraded to scooping ice cream and doing some construction jobs here and there. And now in college, he just does whatever he can get his hands on: bartending, tutoring, more construction jobs.

During his younger days he was always bitter about having to work while the other kids got to run around and play but now, well, he kind of likes it.

He knows that’s a weird thing to say, probably a side effect of whatever stage of capitalism they’re in at the moment, but he genuinely prefers working over the summer than the handful of part time gigs he has during the semester. He doesn’t have to worry about conflicting class schedules or trying to balance studying with his jobs and, most importantly, he gets paid a full-time salary as opposed to part-time. So yeah, he _loves_ working over summer break.

This time he’s spending his days as a lifeguard over at Arkadia Country Club, a large sprawling club complete with an eighteen hole golf course, four tennis courts and of course, a gigantic pool and aquatic centre. It’s his second year spending his summer by the pool. Last year Roma, one of his fuckbuddies who he met in a philosophy class with, mentioned it to him and he signed up, spending that summer getting ogled by the older women that frequented the pool and hooking up with Roma after their shifts were over. It was great.

Roma is doing a summer semester abroad in France now though, which means that this time Bellamy is on his own. Sure, her replacement-- some guy named Gabriel who’s tall and hot and muscled and _just his type_ \-- is nice enough, but he has a girlfriend who he’s clearly over the moon for so Bellamy isn’t even going to attempt anything on that front. Besides, he doesn’t _need_ to have a summer fling. He’s more than happy to just have the random one night stand ever so often.

So yeah, he was honestly looking forward to a fairly quiet summer, the height of which would have been fending off the fifty something year old women who tried to make conversation with him with the intention of something _more_ . Honestly, day time soap operas really need to stop having storylines surrounding housewives who fuck their poolboy. That’s not sexy, that’s _workplace harassment_. And it’s giving these women far too many ideas.

Of course, all thoughts of a quiet summer goes straight out the window when he shows up to work the following week only to find none other than _Clarke Griffin_ lounging by the pool.

Bellamy has to pinch himself to make sure that he’s not seeing things and that yep, that’s Clarke, lying on a lounge chair in a thin, white coverup and a ridiculously large floppy hat, a small sketchpad at her side as she sips on a margarita despite it being like 11 in the morning.

See, Bellamy and Clarke have a long and complicated _history_.

Or rather, a not so long nor so complicated history since they only met about two years ago at a party and have been decidedly nemeses ever since.

They met at a party and Bellamy was planning on asking her if she wanted to hook up because she was hot and had great boobs and even better beer pong skills. But then they got into an argument about something he can longer remember, and since that day they’ve decided that friendship is definitely _not_ in the cards for them.

He realises that most people won’t actively seek out their nemesis to antagonise them but Bellamy’s alway been a bit of an asshole and so has Clarke. She’s a grumpy asshole who once threatened to murder him with his anotated copy of the _Iliad_ while they were in the midst of an argument about the merits of Poptarts as a breakfast food. It was _awesome_.

(And yeah, okay, he recognises the implications of arguing with Clarke about dumb shit just to see her get all red and flustered but he does _not_ have a crush on her. He just thinks she’s hot and has some severely _wrong_ opinions on benign shit. That’s all. Shut up.)

She doesn’t seem to have noticed him as yet which is fine because Bellamy doesn’t even know what he’d even say to her.

He only feels a tad bit self conscious as he pulls off his shirt before climbing up the lifeguard tower but after he slides on his pair of weathered aviators it’s easy to ignore her and focus on the job at hand. And if the job at hand involves him scanning the crowds occasionally to make sure no one is breaking the pool rules well, no one can fault him if he looks at her a beat longer than really necessary.

About an hour and a half into his shift he signals to Gabriel that he’s going to refill his water bottle back in the staffroom. It’s absolutely sweltering out and his poor little nalgene empties within minutes.

When he gets back he glances over where Clarke was sitting and finds himself crestfallen when she’s no longer there. The feeling only lasts for a minute because he goes to pull himself back up to his chair, he spots her, leaning against it.

“Bellamy Blake,” she drawls, twisting a lock of blonde hair around a finger. Her lips quirk up into a coy smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He can tell that she’s unabashedly checking him out behind her cat eye sunglasses. They’re oversized, made by some designer he’s never heard of and probably costs more than a month’s worth of rent.

He flexes, just to be an asshole, and smirks at her.

“I’d say same to you, Princess, but let’s be real. This place is exactly up your alley of being rich and overwhelmingly white,” he snipes at her.

The nickname ‘Princess’ feels a bit too on the nose considering that she’s apparently a member of the country club and he _works_ for that country club.

She scoffs and he continues to smirk at her, even as he subtly checks out her legs. Gone is coverup leaving her in a conservative baby blue one piece that does some great things for her tits. There’s a sudden picture that flashes through his mind of him pressing her up against the wall and mouthing over every inch of her creamy skin and he has to shake his head to get rid of the thought.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” she says.

He outright grins at her. “Only for you Princess.” he says, assuming that’s the end of that conversation, climbing back up to take his seat and resume people watching.

Clarke on the other hand has another idea, lingering around the bottom of the tower and asking, “So how long have you worked here?”

“Shouldn’t you be talking to someone _besides_ the help?” he asks. At her responding glare he sighs and says, “This is my second summer.”

“Oh. Cool. You work all summer?”

“Some of us have too, Princess.”

She pulls a face, “God, I didn’t mean it like that. For once in your life can you stop assuming that everyone is out to get you?”

He looks at her sidelong for a moment crossing his arms and says, “Yeah, it’s a three month stint, five and a half days a week. My shifts start at 11 after the water aerobics are finished. Got a half day on Saturday.”

“Cool,” she says, worrying her lip. “My mom is the club member, not me. I only came because she had a brunch thing with some of her colleagues and she wanted to get me out of the house. Apparently there’s a whole world beyond Netflix.”

“Wow, who knew.”

“I know right? I was shocked.” Clarke tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Well, I’ll get back to sketching and leave you to do your job then. Bye Bellamy.”

“See you around Princess,” he says as he watches her leave, realising that it’s the first conversation in a while that they’ve had where he isn’t left annoyed.

It’s almost nice in a sense, like having a friend visit him at work.

And then he has to banish the thought from his mind immediately because Clarke Griffin is not his _friend_.

-

He doesn’t expect Clarke to be there the next morning when he comes on shift, but she is, propped up on the lounge chair closest to his tower, sketchbook already in hand. Today she’s wearing a high waisted, striped bikini with a bandeau top and Bellamy tries his best not to look when it slides down a bit as she bends over to get her drink.

He manages to hold out just for a second but his willpower crumbles and once again he finds himself wanting to get his hands on her absolutely perfect tits.

“Don’t you think it’s too early for alcohol?” he calls in greeting as he approaches his spot. Her head snaps towards him and she flashes him a toothy grin.

“Bellamy! Hi,” she says, chewing on her straw, “And nope, of course not. It’s five o’ clock somewhere.”

“You sound like an alcoholic.”

“I’m a college kid on summer break. Of _course_ I’m an alcoholic,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind when you fall in the pool and I’m forced to save you,” he smirks, noting how her eyes rove across his torso as he takes off his t-shirt. 

“I’m surprised you’d actually save me. Thought you’d want me to die a slow and painful death.”

“Yeah, well, day’s still young. That’s subject to change.”

“Maybe if you’d have a drink you wouldn’t be such a dick all the time,” she tells him, sucking the last bits of her cocktail down.

“I’m working, Princess. If I have a drink then I’ll get fired,” he says.

“Oops my bad. I’ll get you a juice pack instead. Caprisun works for you?” she snarks and he grins at her.

“My favourite.”

Clarke stays with him for almost his entire shift, conversation flowing easy between them, even as they bicker back and forth. He teases her when she starts to turn pink from the heat and she hits him right back when he has to dodge a few come-ons from a couple fifty year olds.

“I can’t believe it,” she wheezes after he (very nicely) turns down Mrs Asherton. “Everyone wants a piece of Bellamy Blake, huh.”

He looks at her over the top of his aviators and smirks. “What, you jealous Princess?”

Clarke bites down on her bottom lip, giving him a very thorough look over that leaves him flushed, though just a bit. It also leaves him with some very inconvenient thoughts of _him_ biting down on that very same bottom lip, drawing out a sweet moan as he tugs her onto his lap and kisses her, deep and dirty.

“Nah,” she says, flippantly, drawing him out of his daydream, “There’s nothing for me to be jealous of at all.”

He scoffs at her. “Yeah right, say that like you mean it.”

She hums happily. “Sounds like you’re projecting.”

“Yeah right. In your dreams Princess.”

“Oh with you? Always.”

It catches him off guard and he blinks, once, twice, clearly trying to make sense of what she just said. Clarke on the other hand is completely nonchalant about it and gets up and stretches her arms over her head, which does some very interesting things for her breasts, and he finds himself staring hard at the line painted on the floor of the pool as he tries to ignore it.

“I’m gonna get another drink. You want anything?” she asks, grabbing her empty glass.

He throws a withering stare her way. “I’m working, Clarke.”

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol, asshole.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs before flouncing away.

Bellamy releases a sigh, slumping down in his seat. The past two days have been a strange look into what his life could be like if he and Clarke weren’t always screaming at each other and Bellamy’s not sure if he likes it.

Well, he’s sure that he likes it. Maybe even likes it a bit too much.

But anyway, he shouldn’t be having a complete evaluation of his life just because he and Clarke are being _nice_ to each other. That’s ridiculous.

“I got you a popsicle,” she announces when she comes back, holding out a cherry red popsicle towards him while she claims the lime green one for herself.

He doesn’t really have a choice but to take it. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says as she plops back down in her seat.

Bellamy tries his best not to stare as she sucks on it, tongue darting out to catch the sticky syrup that leaks down her hand as the popsicle melts faster than she can eat it, but it’s hard not to and he realises that yeah, maybe he should in fact reevaluate his life to figure out how he got to this point.

-

Bellamy likes to think that he’s not _that guy_.

 _That guy_ , or the one who, no matter what, always claims that the intention and reciprocated attraction is there once you read between the lines. The guy who finds interest where there is none or the self acclaimed nice guy.

You know, _that guy_.

But he can’t help but think that Clarke is trying to tell him _something_ and instead of carefully measured subtext and reading between the lines, it’s a veritable billboard sign complete with flashing lights and the whole shebang.

It starts off with her swimsuits which, okay, he realises that this makes him sound like _that guy_ , but she went from wearing a sporty, practical one piece, to one with a plunging neckline and intricate lacing on the back, to today, where she donned a bright red string bikini that almost made him walk into the pool.

There’s so much deliciously creamy skin on display that he can feel himself very slowly losing his mind each time he looks at her.

The next thing is that she seems to be here at the club every single day purely just to spend time with him. She never gets into the water, just drags a lounge chair right next to his lifeguard station and sketches or shoots the shit with him. Even that day when she wasn’t by the pool but instead in the club itself for a spa day with her mother, she still popped outside to tell him hi and nail him in the head with a fucking Caprisun.

(She showed up in a pretty white sundress, nails newly painted in candy pink from the spa, and he compliments her on them. A gust of wind blew, kicking up the short hem of her skirt and he got a peek of her pink, lacey panties that perfectly match the colour of her nails and his brain completely short circuits. That night it even made an appearance in his dreams, where he found himself pulling them off with his teeth. In the morning he’s forced to very grumpily rub one out, trying his best not to think of her and failing, and he was unable to look at her without blushing for at least an hour.)

She also somehow finagled his number out of him and now he has an active text thread going with Clarke Griffin which. He does not even want to _begin_ to unpack that.

And finally, it’s all of her little comments that are almost borderline innuendo. It starts with the little comment about her dreams and they haven’t stopped. Bellamy doesn’t think himself a prude by any means but there’s something about those things that just have the slightest bit of filthy intentions behind them coming from her mouth that reduces him to a blushing, stammering pile of nonsense. It’s ridiculous.

And yeah, he knows that if one were to add this all up it would point to one very obvious explanation but Bellamy’s not even going to entertain the thought. He’s already going crazy enough as it is.

“You know, the whole point of coming to the pool is to actually go for a swim,” he says when they’re about midway through his shift. It’s Saturday which means he finishes early today and that’s great because he doesn’t think he can handle spending more time than needed when Clarke’s out here in a fucking string bikini.

Her skin is already blushed pink, the colour dipping down her chest, and Bellamy wants to see just how pink he can make her get, maybe first with his fingers and then with his mouth.

“Who says I come here to swim?” she asks, scooping her hair up and away from the back of her neck.

“It’s a pool, Princess.”

“Maybe I just come here because I enjoy the company,” she says, cheeky, and he can’t help but glance over at her. She just flashes him an angelic smile that shouldn’t be that hot and he has to look away before his _growing attraction_ becomes evident.

He tries for a smirk as he adjusts his sunglasses and leans back in his chair. “Are you saying the very handsy fifty something year olds are _your_ type?”

She wrinkles her nose. It’s adorable. “You’re such a pig.”

“You just said that you enjoy my company,” he shoots back at her, smug.

Clarke just bites her lips and looks him over, her eyes lingering on his bare chest and the bright red of swim shorts. “Maybe company wasn’t the right word,” she says cryptically before pulling out her sketchpad, leaving him gobsmacked with a certain kind of heat starting to build low in his stomach.

They don’t speak that much for the rest of his shift, Clarke too busy sketching away and Bellamy doing his _job_ , but the air between them is still heavy with something, crackling with unsaid want. There aren’t a lot of people at the pool on Saturdays. Most of the club members would be having brunch or playing golf instead of coming down by the pool and normally he’d like the reprieve but now it just means that there are way less things to keep him from staring at Clarke’s tits.

It’s a bit of a problem.

 _He_ has a bit of a problem.

With less than an hour left on his shift, Clarke pokes him in the thigh and says, “I want to go swimming.”

The pool was empty for some time now, just leaving the two of them and he was lying back, trying to relax. Bellamy cracks open an eye and glances at her. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“Come with me.”

“I am not coming with you in the water, Clarke.”

She lets out a huff. “I don’t know how to swim,” she admits, glaring at him for making her say it and he sits up.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to swim?”

“I never learnt how,” she shrugs, “My mom sent me to swimming lessons when I was a kid but I almost drowned like twice so never sent me back.”

“Jesus.” He scrubs a hand down his face.

“Come on Bellamy,” she wheedles, “You don’t want me to drown, do you?”

“I know how to do CPR.”

She scoffs. “Yeah I’ve seen you practicing with the dummy during that first aid training course we had to do last semester. Your form leaves a lot to be desired.”

He can help but quip, “Funny, no one has ever complained about my form before.”

Clarke bites back a smile. “Then I guess you’ll just have to prove it to me later,” she says, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

For a moment they exchange a heated glance, one filled with promise, and then he looks away, licking his lips.

“You know you can just go in the shallow end, right.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Come on, Bellamy. What’s stopping you?”

“The fact that I might lose my job?” he offers and she just rolls her eyes again.

“There’s literally no one else here,” she says. “I promise I won’t tell if you don’t.” She winks at him.

“Clarke…”

“Come on, please?”

She’s pouting now, just a little bit, and the last remaining shreds of Bellamy’s willpower crumble away. How can he say no to her when she’s standing in front of him looking like _that_?

He can tell the second Clarke realises that she’s won him over because her pout morphs into a bright smile and then suddenly her hand is in his, fingers interlocked, as she tugs him towards the pool. He stumbles a bit, mostly out of surprise, but it’s not hard to keep up with her, walking right behind her. She smells like coconut and sunscreen.

The water is cool and refreshing when they jump in, a much needed boon for Bellamy’s overheated skin. Beside him, Clarke actually groans as she wades in a bit deeper, letting the water come up to just below her shoulders. Her swimsuit adheres to her body, leaving very little to the imagination, and it makes his dick jump.

She catches him staring at her and hitches an eyebrow and Bellamy just flashes her a lopsided smile.

“Alright Princess?”

“This has got to be my best idea yet,” she says, sighing when she leans back and tries to float and fuck, she’s got to stop making those _sounds_.

“Even despite the increased risk of drowning?” he can’t help but joke.

“Mhmm,” she hums, “Although, I guess that means you gotta come closer. You know. So you can save me in case I do end up drowning.”

“Uh huh,” he rolls his eyes but swims closer to her. She’s drifted back out to the shallows where the water is only waist high and he comes up next to, just an arm's length away. “Better?”

“Hmm. Closer.”

She stands up properly, the water cascading down her body in little waves and he can’t help but stare at the way her nipples are pebbled through the thin fabric of her swimsuit, the way she bites down on her bottom lip as she looks up at him, pupils blown wide.

He stands toe to toe with her, close enough that he can see each individual drop of water caught in her lashes.

“How about now?” he asks, trailing a finger down the length of her arm and she shivers.

“Closer,” she breathes, letting her hand play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Bellamy ducks his head, his nose brushing against hers once, twice, and he purrs, “This close enough for you, Princess?”

“Almost,” she murmurs before she lets go of his hair and slides her hand down to properly cup his neck, rolling up on the balls of her feet to kiss him.

It’s a slow kiss, but it’s absolutely wet and dirty, the way his tongue finds hers and she sucks his lower lip into her mouth. As far as first kisses go, this one is fucking fantastic, the way her tits are all pressed up against him, the soft caress of her hand on his neck. Clarke gives as good as she gets and he wants to laugh because of _course_ she would turn making out into a competition. Everything he does, she’s right there with him, trying to get him as worked up as her.

He licks into her mouth and she moans with it and then two seconds later she’s got a leg hooked around his hip, grinding up against him, slow, purposeful.

“Fuck,” he mumbles into the skin of her neck as his hips jerk against her. Clarke moans, echoing his sentiments. “Fuck Princess, you gotta stop that.”

“Why?” she grumbles, mouthing across his jaw.

“Because I work here and I can get fired,” he says, whining when she grinds up against him again.

“Then maybe we should get out of here,” she says, dragging her teeth over his earlobe.

Bellamy glances at his watch and he sees that he only has ten minutes left on his shift and honestly fuck it, he could leave early for once. The pool is empty anyway and he’s pretty sure that Clarke Griffin wants to fuck him.

(Okay, he’s _very_ sure she wants to fuck him, judging from the slow, constant grind of her hips against his.)

“You wanna get out of here, Princess?” he says, unable to resist teasing her for a bit longer. He presses her up against the cold tile wall of the pool and kisses her again, quick and filthy and making her whimper into his mouth. “You wanna get out of here with me?”

“I wanna get out of here and _fuck you_ but you insist on making things difficult,” she grumbles, and he can’t help but lean in again and kiss the frown right off her face.

“Then let’s get out of here,” he tells her, pulling away and grabbing her hand to drag her out of the pool. They have to grab their stuff, him with his t-shirt, sunglasses and water bottle, and she has to get her bag before he’s linking their fingers and pulling her towards the staff room. Bellamy barely remembers to hang the ‘closed’ sign over the gate as he locks it shut, too distracted by the way Clarke was pressing up against him.

The staff room is small and windowless, with a few lockers against one wall and a single shower and changing room against the other, with a few plastic chairs and a water cooler. It was sparse but clean, and most importantly private, and Bellamy pushes Clarke up against the door to kiss her senseless once he flips the lock in place.

They set a frenzied pace, hands and mouths everywhere. Clarke brings him closer so she could grind against him, panting and moaning in his ear. She could probably get off from just this alone judging from the flush that graces her cheekbones and while he’d _love_ to see that-- love to have her push him around and have her way with him, rubbing her cunt against him, all slick and dirty, until she comes-- that’s something for some other time. For now he slows them down, slows the speed of their kisses and stops her hips from moving, gripping them so hard that she might end up with bruises.

“Bellamy,” she whines and he kisses her.

“Easy,” he murmurs against her lips. He has a hand cupping her cheek and he brushes it across her cheekbone, down to her neck where he could feel her pulse hammering beneath the skin. She’s so small in his hands. In fact, one of his is able to cover her neck, easy, could probably even wrap around it if he tried. He doesn’t though, but he does squeeze the sides lightly, gentle enough that her breath hitches and her eyes flutter shut. He smirks at her reaction. “Easy,” he says again, cocky.

“You’re a tease,” she says breathlessly and he just smirks wider.

“Next time,” he promises and she shoots him a glare.

“I’m holding you to that,” she grumbles and shit, he didn’t think that he could get even more turned on, but here he is, Clarke Griffin surprising him once more.

“Good to know,” he grins before he continues his exploration of her body.

His hands find the strings that hold together her bikini top and give them a quick tug, the knots easily coming undone under his deft fingers. As much as he likes Clarke with the bikini on, he much prefers her with it off, her tits even more gorgeous than he could imagine.

“Fuck,” he says, a little helplessly as he stares at them, and she lifts a brow, one of her own hands coming up to cup it, thumb flicking carelessly at the nipple.

“You gonna do anything about it?” she challenges and he smirks again.

“Oh, Princess,” he chuckles as his hands replace hers. They’re soft in his hands, nipples pink and pinched, and Clarke is very receptive to his ministrations, pushing her chest into his hands and moaning with it. “I could play with these all day.”

Her tits are absolutely mouthwatering so _of course_ he has to get his mouth on them, sucking one into his mouth while carefully kneading the other. He wants to catalogue all the sounds she makes, from the breathy sighs as he kisses around them, to the hitch in her breath when he bites down with blunt teeth, to the sweet moan when he suck on those pretty, pink nipples. 

He could probably spend all day like this but then she whines, “Bellamy, please,” and it goes straight to his cock, reminding him of his own arousal, and he pulls back, stopping, as he takes her in.

Her skin is flushed pink, pinker than it is when she spends hours in the sun, and her hair is sticking to her face and neck, chest heaving and nipples peaked and she’s honest to god one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. She looks like something out of a renaissance painting, like an angel that could be found on the roof of the Sistine Chapel.

Clarke starts to squirm under his gaze, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “Bellamy, please. Come on,” she begs, her voice soft and thready, laden with want. “Please. I need-- touch me. Do _something._ ”

For a second he contemplates making her beg for it-- really and truly begging for it, teasing her until she’s on the brink of tears-- and _fuck_ if that isn’t a hot image in his mind. But he looks at her again, takes in the steady up-down of her chest, the bottom lip she’s going to worry raw if she keeps on biting on it like that, and decides that there would be plenty of time for that later when he himself isn’t aching to get out of his chlorine soaked shorts.

“You want me to do something, Princess?” he asks, petting her hand down her sides. At her nod he asks, “What do you want me to do?”

“Touch-- touch me,” she stutters, suddenly shy and he almost laughs. This is Clarke, the girl who has been driving him crazy for the past week to get him to fuck her, and now that they’re finally here, she’s going shy on him. It’s almost cute in a way.

“I am touching you, Princess,” he teases, running his hand up and down her back.

“Not _there_.”

“Well you gotta tell me where,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. His hand skims up to link their fingers, pressing a quick kiss to her fingertips. “Here?” he asks and she shakes her head.

It climbs down to the slight swell of her stomach, tickling a little judging from the way she squirms. “What about here?” Again she shakes her head.

He drops it a bit lower, thumbing across the just of her hip bone. “How about here?”

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she groans, drawing out his name.

“ _Clarke_ ,” he says, trying to match her tone.

“You’re being a tease,” she pouts.

“I’m just trying to figure out what you want since you don’t want to tell me,” he says innocently and she scoffs at him.

“You’re an ass.”

“That’s true,” he agrees, and then slides his hand down the front of her bikini bottoms, both of them swearing when he finds her heat. “But I think you like it.” 

She’s hot and wet, and he could easily slip one, two, maybe even three fingers inside of her, get her off in no time flat, but Bellamy wants to take his time with it, wants to make all of her limbs turn to goo.

“Fuck,” she breaths out sharply when he runs his thumb over her clit.

“We’ll get to that later,” he promises, dropping a kiss to her forehead while she pants, eyes closed. He’s barely even touching her and she’s ready to explode, so keyed up from all of his previous teasing. “Patience, Princess.”

He circles her clit, taking his time with it as she tries to roll her hips against his hands. He can tell that she wants more, wants something sweet to fill her cunt, so Bellamy takes pity on her, sliding in one finger and watching as the furrow in her brow relaxes a little as her breath hitches.

Despite his best efforts to draw things out, she still does manage to come in no time flat. One second he’s teasing her with two fingers, just gentle shallow thrusts while he works on her clit and then before he knows it, she’s clenching down on nothing, body going tense for one blissful second as her breath catches, before she slumps against the door, breathing hard.

“That one was a gimme,” she pants, and he grins against her temple, slowly extricating his hand from her bikini.

“Or maybe I’m just that good,” he can't help but say. Clarke manages to find the energy in her to slap his bicep.

“Cockiness isn’t a good look on you.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, all boyish grin and swagger.

“You gotta put your money where your mouth is, Blake,” she says, throwing him a challenging look, no longer quite as shy as she was before.

He meets her challenging stare by tugging on the strings holding her bikini bottoms together and letting them fall to the ground with a sad little ‘fwump’ leaving her completely bare before him.

He hitches a brow. “How about I put my mouth somewhere else instead?”

Bellamy drops to his knees without waiting for her response though by the way her breath hitches, he thinks she’s pretty good for it.

“Yeah,” she says shaky, a hand coming to tangle in his hair as he nuzzles the crease where her thigh meets her hip. “That could work too.”

Unlike before, he doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t seek to build her up before he really gets to work. This time Bellamy jumps right in, licking a fat stripe up her centre before sucking on her clit light enough to make her see stars.

“Oh fuck, _Bellamy._ ”

Bellamy likes eating pussy. He could go at it for hours, until his jaw starts to cramp up, and even then he probably wouldn’t stop unless the girl told him too. He likes the taste, likes the way most girls seem to lose their minds when he does it, likes having the ability to make them come over and over with just his mouth.

He licks into her folds, tongue flicking at her clit ever so often, and he holds her hips down with both of his hands, stopping her from bucking up against him. She still wants to of course, wants to grind that pretty little cunt of hers on his face and any other time Bellamy would let her go for it, but he’s a man on a mission today, so he pins her hips down, throws a leg over his shoulder to open her up wider, and goes to _town_.

“You like that, Princess? Like having my mouth on your cunt?” he asks, licking deep, and he hears a dull ‘thump’ as she throws her head back against the door.

“Fuck Bellamy, you know I do,” she says, her voice ragged, and it makes him groan into her flesh.

He can tell when she’s getting close, the way she seems to get even wetter, the building flush on her skin getting even darker, her cunt clenching down on nothing. He flattens his tongue, lapping her up in long slow strokes that seem to drive her mad judging from the way the hand in his hair curls into a fist, inadvertently pulling on it. The sharp sting of pain draws a moan out of him, and he redoubles his efforts against her.

For a second he debates fucking her with his tongue, but her clit is right there, begging for his attention, so he slides in one finger, giving her something to squeeze down on.

“You feel so good, babe,” he says, voice muffled, as he fucks her shallowly with his finger, giving her clit little kitten licks that only seem to heighten her growing need. “So wet and tight around my finger. Fuck, you want another?”

“Yes,” she moans, nodding her head, “God, give it to me.”

She doesn’t need to ask twice.

Just as easy as the first, he slips in a second finger, fucking her in earnest with them now, crooking them up against her walls on every downstroke. At this point she’s rendered incoherent, nothing but a mess of ‘oh yes’ and ‘fuck’ and his name playing over and over like the best kind of broken record.

When he starts to feel the telltale beginnings of contractions around his fingers, he twists them inside her, wringing out one last gasp from her and then Bellamy sucks hard on her clit and that’s it for Clarke. She’s gone.

She’s not exactly quiet, but she’s not loud either, just high pitched little mewls in the back of her throat as her entire body shakes and shudders.

“Was that good?” he asks as she stands back up, a slight ache in his knees from being on the hard concrete floor for too long.

Clarke doesn’t even reply, just yanks him forward and kisses him deep and wet and absolutely filthy, licking the taste of herself out of his mouth.

“You’re way too good at that,” she breathes. Her hands skim across his body, down his biceps and pecs and abs before she finally gets to his bulge, her tiny hand cupping it. His cock is aching at this point, needing attention like, yesterday, and he can’t help but shallowly thrust into her hands.

She pushes down on the waistband of his shorts and Bellamy helps her get them off, leaving him as naked as she is. She wraps her hand around him and jerks him off, just a slow pull up and down his length and he indulges in it until it starts to feel a little too good.

“Fuck Princess, you gotta stop that if you want me to fuck you,” he half laughs, half begs.

“Why can’t we do both?” she asks, reaching down further to play with his balls and he whines helplessly into her hair.

“ _Clarke,_ come on.”

“Fine,” she pouts, “Next time.”

“Next time you can do whatever the hell you want,” he promises, too far gone to worry about signing blank cheques like that. From the way she flashes him that evil grin he should probably worry a little, but right now Bellamy just wants to fuck her.

“I’m holding you to that,” she says before letting go of him so he can find a condom. He thanks the gods that he remembered to put back one in his wallet after the last time he used it.

There aren’t much options in the room; there’s the wall, but fucking against a wall is only fun in the heat of the moment, there’s the sink, but it’s not big enough to hold her, and there’s the plastic chairs which Bellamy is afraid might break if he sits down and lets her ride him in it.

“Turn around and face the wall,” he ends up saying, gruff, as he focuses on rolling the condom down his length. She does what he says, no questions asked.

He comes up behind Clarke, kissing the junction between her neck and shoulder and letting her feel his arousal against her ass and she presses back against him.

“Hands against the wall and bend over for me, babe,” he whispers in her ear, one hand slowly tugging at his cock and the other sneaking around in front of her to tweak at a nipple. 

Clarke does what he asks and he takes a second to take in the sight because fuck, it’s such a pretty one.

He gathers up her hair in a fist and gives it a tug, and it draws out a startled moan from her.

“You sure you want this, Princess?” he asks as he slides his cock between her folds, getting it wet. The head of it bumps against her clit and she gasps, pressing back against him. She’s so wet at this point that arousal is dripping down her thighs and he wants to lap it all up again.

“You getting cold feet, Blake?” she throws back at him and he tugs on her hair again for her snark.

“Best sex of your life, babe? You sure you’re ready for that?” he says, just to be a dick.

“There seems to be a lot more talking than fucking,” she grumbles. “And again with the cockiness.”

“I’m just saying, you really sure you want me to ruin all men for you forever?” he goes on, because really, it’s just so much fun to antagonise her.

“At this rate I could probably get myself off before you even-- _oh_ ,” she moans, stumbling forward a little when he thrusts in with one quick motion. The hand not holding onto her hair goes to her hip to help balance her, and he groans at the feel of her cunt clinging to his cock.

“You were saying?” he says, voice strained as he pulls out, only to push back in mind numbingly slow.

“Fuck, shut up,” she pants, a little breathless, fucking back against him to meet his slow deep thrusts. “You’re still an ass.”

He lets her set their rhythm, a downright torturously slow one that has him feeling every single inch of her as they fuck. It’s probably not all that good for his stamina but fuck if it doesn’t feel good. Clarke seems to think so too, arching her back as she fucks him, an almost indecipherable string of curses being muttered under her breath.

“God you look so pretty like this, babe,” he breathes, meeting her thrust for thrust. His head falls forward and he tugs on her hair, snapping her head up. She groans with it, fluttering around his cock on the next stroke, he finds himself quickening their pace. “You _feel_ so good,” he says into the sweaty skin of her temple.

“So good,” she echoes, her voice shaky.

This isn’t going to last long, not from the way he’s been aching and ready since before he even got inside her or the way her cunt is already starting to clench down on him.

“Play with your clit for me, babe,” he tells her, letting go of her hair in favour of playing with those pretty tits of hers. “Come on, rub it, make yourself feel good.”

He can feel when she wriggles her hand to the place where their joined, her fingers working in tight, quick little circles, and he hastens his pace to match hers, hips snapping furiously into her own.

“Oh god, _Bellamy_ ,” she cries out, desperate and high. 

“Yeah, I know, Princess. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says, fucking her deep and proper. “We’re gonna get you there, babe.”

She turns her head to the side, in search of his mouth, and Bellamy obliges her, giving her a sloppy kiss that’s more teeth and spit than anything else but she still moans with it, still feels her body going tense under his.

He flicks his thumb over her nipple the same time she bears down hard on her clit and Clarke comes with breathless sob. Bellamy fucks her through it, letting the aftershocks of her own orgasm drag him towards his and his hand spasms on her hip as his entire body stills, coming with a quiet, “ _Fuck_.”

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing echoing off the walls of the tiny room, and then Bellamy pulls out, tying off the condom and throwing it away the same time Clarke straightens and turns back around.

She loops her arms around his neck and pulls him down to kiss her, and Bellamy goes all too willingly.

They make out, slow and lazy, until their heartbeats come back down and they’re no longer gasping for air. Clarke is the one that pulls away first, stretching out her spine, and he can’t help but grin down at her.

“So that was fun,” she says and he can’t help but snort.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he agrees. “Although fun wouldn’t have been my first word of choice.”

She smacks him in the stomach though Bellamy thinks it’s just an excuse for her to caress his abs. “Shut up, you had fun.”

“I did.”

“We should have totally done this sooner,” she says, wincing a bit as she tries to put her hair up in a bun but getting her fingers caught in the knots. Whether they were from the pool water or from Bellamy, the world will never know.

“I can’t believe I spent the past two years arguing with you when I could have been, like, riding your dick instead,” she says and he almost chokes on his tongue.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” he says, nudging her with his hip. They’re both still naked and Bellamy knows that he should feel self conscious, but he’s not, strangely at ease being like this with Clarke. “We could have spent the past two years arguing _and_ riding my dick.”

She snorts. “At the same time?”

“It’s called multitasking, Princess,” he tells her and she shoves him.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Shower?” he suggests and she nods, affirmative.

They shower together after, and Bellamy manages to make her come one last time, just a feeble flutter of her cunt around his fingers as he mouths along the column of her neck. He could probably get addicted to the sounds she makes, the way she looks when she comes. She always gets a little furrow between her brows and she bites down on her lip while her skin flushes pink. It’s gorgeous. _She_ is gorgeous.

While they’re toweling off her stomach growls loudly and they both end up laughing.

“Wanna get a bite to eat?” he asks her, “There’s this diner on my way home that has the _best_ cheese fries.”

“I don’t understand how you can eat cheese fries and still look like that,” she grumbles, gesturing towards his torso as she reaches over to steal his deodorant. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s because I was hand sculpted by the gods. Don’t be jealous.”

“What did we say about the cockiness?”

He pulls her to him, ignoring her startled yelp, and kisses her deep and dirty for a quick moment before pulling away and leaving her breathless. “You didn’t seem bothered by my cockiness earlier,” he murmurs in her ear, voice dark and husky, and he can feel the way she shivers.

“So I think greasy diner food sounds great,” she says, changing the topic as she steps out of his hold and Bellamy snorts. There’s a spot of pink high on her cheekbones and he knows he got her flustered.

“Greasy diner food it is then,” he says, pulling on a shirt while she tries to wrangle her damp hair into a ponytail.

“I’ll have you know I don’t put out on a first date by the way,” she tells him, tongue in cheek and he smirks at her.

“Oh, so this is a date now?” he asks, hitching a brow as he looks down at her.

Clarke grins at him and he’s suddenly struck by an overwhelming surge of fondness growing in his chest. 

“Of course it is, that was always the plan, Bellamy,” she says, “Getting a lil something extra today was just a bonus.”

And then she grabs her bag and flounces out of the room, leaving him standing gobsmacked in the middle of it.

“The plan?” he asks in the empty room. “Wait, Clarke, come back! What plan?”

**Author's Note:**

> unedited because if i stared at this any longer i was gonna set my house on fire. sorry for any mistakes. you can come yell at me about it on tumblr i'm @hiddenpolkadots


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